Illusions of Love
by theglassalchemist
Summary: How much pain has cracked your soul? How much love would make you whole? - A collections of drabbles and one shots for the pairing AiIta
1. Admire

Admiration is the emotion furthest from understanding.

* * *

The pills in the glass clinked gently against it as he passed them over to the raven sitting on the bed. Aizen had never seen the other look quite so defeated, the illness had taken root deep down in the boy's lungs and there was nothing he, nor any other doctor on earth, could do about it.

Yet the now dull black eyes that glanced up at him were not bitter, the smile on his lips not false. Aizen had worked with countless terminal cancer patients and each had dealt with the diagnosis in different varying shades of the same spectrum. Some had cried - many had cried - some had been angry, some choosing denial, but in the end each and every reaction had been expected. Aizen could read people, it was how he had easily breezed through every interview he had ever attended, why his patients always credited him as their favourite doctor no matter what the outcome of his treatment, even how he was considered kind and charming by every single one of his colleagues even though he himself knew that was very much not the case.

But he had never been able to read Itachi.

The struggling motion of his throat as the boy knocked back the medication that made little to no difference this late on was hard to watch. The tendons stuck out harshly through near-translucent skin and the dryness of the other's mouth was clear in the mottled skin that cracked his lips.

"Thank you." The words were little more than mouthed but Aizen made no comment on this, knowing that the topic of Itachi's declining health was one that was very rarely broached during their meetings.

"Did you manage to contact your aunt yet?"

"Not yet." The barest hint of concern flashed within faded obsidian, of course not for himself, however. "It would seem she has moved since the last time we were in contact."

"I see." Aizen knew just how important this matter was to Itachi, he was an orphan after all and there was no one else around to make arrangements for his younger brother once death inevitably made its claim on him. Not that he cared for the fate of the little boy, in his line of work he saw relatives abandoned to fend for themselves almost daily and it had left him rather immune to the whole situation. "Well, you're running out of time."

"I am aware." Again, there was no irritation at how blunt he had been over the matter – how uncaring. If he had spoken to any of his other patients like this he was sure he would have received a far more volatile, emotional, response. He had yet to decide whether the lack of this from the other was due to strength, stupidity, control, or merely a complete lack of care for his own wellbeing. "But I should still have a few more weeks, at least. She is a good woman, I'm sure that it is merely a matter of getting hold of her."

Aizen nodded, his gaze now averted as he made notes in Itachi's file. Not that he agreed with the statement. In his experience there were very few 'good' people, and the fact that this woman had severed all ties with her two orphaned nephews did not exactly bode well for her moral standing, yet to air any of this would have been useless. Itachi seemed to have the relatively naïve trait of finding the good in everyone, one that clashed hardly against the obviously high intelligence which he possessed. It was an extremely rare thing to find someone widely considered as a genius who had managed to go through life without losing the ability to sympathise – Aizen himself was perfect proof of this fact – though apparently this was yet another rule with which Itachi was an exception.

Returning his gaze to drawn, tired features, Aizen wondered just how many more times he would be privy to viewing them. How many more conversations they would have that contained little words yet so many obscured reasonings.

"Well I shall wish you the best of luck." The words accompanied the last scrawl of writing added to the other's chart, a gentle smile forming on his own lips – hollow, as always.

The dismissal was clear to the other, never one to outstay his welcome, and he quickly rose from the gurney. There was an eerie grace to his movements, one that did not match the frame of an invalid. Itachi was a collection of contradictions.

As soon as the door shut behind the fading raven any traces of kindness bled from Aizen's features, as were any thoughts of the other swept from his mind. A puzzle such as that was one far too complex for a solution to be found before the dwindling sands of time it had been dealt had run out, and Aizen was not foolish enough to let himself desire one.

* * *

Then I most certainly must admire you, for I know I will never understand you.


	2. Beauty

It had been a long time since Aizen could have drawn out each line of Uchiha Itachi's face with painstaking accuracy, had he had any desire to; each deep shadow that long lashes cut across his face, the sharp indents running below his eyes that should have marred his face but somehow only added to the agonising perfection that he had learned to associate with the raven. But of course he had never done this. The image etched into his brain, taunting him in rare glimpses over the days they spent in such close proximity – yet so far apart, was enough. It was not one he needed to immortalise.

Even now, as each plane of pale skin stretched tight over fragile bones was finally memorized on his fingertips he knew that he would never get this chance again and would never try to. They would never be as they were now; in each other's arms, calm, quiet. This meant there was all the more reason to savour it.

Aizen could recall the first time he had seen Itachi. It had been raining, the sky an extremely bland shade of grey that contrasted against raven locks in a surprisingly complimentary way. Back then the boy's beauty had been nothing to Aizen than a rather lucky collection of features, no different than any other individual who had managed to strike lucky on their trip to the gene pool. Yet those eyes - framed by dense, black, feather-like lashes - they were not beautiful. There was a pain within them that was almost sickening to look at, depths you could drown in and the idea that this would be far less painful than having to look into dark obsidian orbs any longer. It was a pain that showed through no other feature or gesture the raven possessed, but one that was made all the more obvious to him by the very fact that Itachi wished so strongly to hide it. Aizen had never asked about the source of the other's agony, it had never been important to him, it was an emotion to be studied not picked apart – a mystery he savoured among a sea full of answered question. Yet he had always imagined the riddle would be solved one day, leaving nothing but disinterest in its wake.

Gently he brushed back the strands of hair that fell across the other's face, not wanting even the smallest expanse of skin to be obscured from his view. Darkened hues gazed back at him, or at least that was what Aizen would like to have thought, knowing that in truth Itachi had never really seen him. He was blinded by the chains of his past that bound him, averting his eyes from all the things he had always seen within the elder that others had missed – it was always better if these things were missed, there were reasons Aizen worked hard to keep them hidden for he was not beautiful on the inside like Itachi was.

The first piece of the puzzle had clicked into place as he had watched, studied the many masks that Itachi would wear. These were different from the walls Aizen himself put up in that they were always shifting. At times he had wondered whether there really was anything beneath these hardened personas or if the raven was hollowed out by the claws of agony that had taken a hold of him so rigidly. Either way Itachi was a manipulator, deceptive, and it was crystal clear that he took no pleasure whatsoever from this fact.

The cold chill of the night air sent the slightest of shivers down Aizen's spine, but Itachi stayed steady in his grasp. He pulled the willing frame closer, never once letting his gaze falter, but found no warmth in the renewed closeness. The wind was still an icy bite on his skin and there was no more effort of comfort made from Itachi than there had ever been – that luxury had always been saved for others. He would have liked to say he did not spite the boy for this but he would not lie to himself tonight.

The affection that the raven so obviously held for those around him was never shown with overt gestures. The motions were subtle, the brush of hands, a brief glint of genuine happiness in the curve of perfect lips. They were signs that were easy to miss if you weren't looking for them, but over recent months Aizen had always been looking – even if such actions weren't ever directed at him. The obsession had become of utmost importance to Aizen by this time, a fact that he had managed to hide from himself remarkably well, and it was one that had not gone amiss by the subject of such interest. There had been stunted conversations, veiled questions concerning the matter, but he had ignored every one. What could possibly make the boy so special that Aizen would dedicate any more time to him than to anyone else he had encountered throughout the course of his life?

There was a rustling in the grass behind them but Aizen did not look up. What did he care if someone were to find them in this macabre embrace? He had his answers now and the unearthly high buzzed through his veins, far stronger than the drugs most enjoyed using to fuel their dull and dreary lives.

He had eventually come to ask what Itachi thought made them so different. Over time he had found countless similarities between the pair of them, all of which the raven accepted without the barest hint of interest or intrigue, taking on the explanation as if it meant nothing to him. So what was it then? Why did these things mean nothing to him when it was a question that had plagued Aizen since the very day they had met? Itachi had told him he needed to accept himself, as he had long ago, that there was no point in the goals he aimed for until he could truly understand what drove him towards them. Anger had flared within him, such a foolish notion. Others enjoyed deluding themselves with the grandeur of love, of affection; Aizen was one of the few who accepted these things as lies. Of course he was not the one who needed to accept the truth about himself.

The mottled crimson shone in the dim moonlight, showing now even through the dark material of the other's clothing, his face left pale in the absence of life that instead now flowed across the ground beneath them. Flecks of red dripped onto the hollow of Itachi's cheeks, falling from the small crescents that cut Aizen's own – the only sign of the half-hearted resistance that had been put up against his undivided rage. Thumb traced against now cold skin, leaving an ugly trail in its wake. The smudges of blood that sullied the pristine white canvas of Itachi's skin were indiscernible now, Aizen's lips coming to press lightly against the one that stained his temple. The tang of copper tainted the kiss, but that was all the touch yielded. He did not know whether it was the taste of Itachi's blood or his own that now lingered on his tongue.

_It seems that, in the end, we were not so different beneath the surface after all, Itachi._


	3. Cherry Blossoms

He supposed that really it was their first date, of sorts. It was hard to label it as such considering that neither of them had actually known the other would be attending the cherry blossom viewing, but he had gravitated towards the other nonetheless.

Mahogany eyes had set upon the slender figure almost instantaneously. Itachi was alone, as he almost always was, yet Aizen had still kept his distance. He himself was _not_ alone, a small crowd of his peers having agreed to go together. The conversation that flowed between them was free and easy and could either revolve around or breeze past Aizen depending on his mood. For now he added only small comments to the inane chatter, his attention held somewhere further afield. The raven was still unfamiliar to him for the moment, an anomaly, and Aizen both adored and detested anomalies in equal measure.

The buzz of gentle happiness vibrated softly through the air, nearby conversations blurring together – no more notable as a whole than they were individually. Although there was nothing but an eerie silence that swarmed around the boy currently within Aizen's gaze. In fact, he had yet to hear the other's voice despite the fact Itachi had been attending his class for almost 3 months now. He sat at the back of the room, at a distance from any of his fellow students, head usually held low with inky locks threatening to spill across his text books. He would have thought many members of his class would have flocked to him, for there was no denying that Itachi had the looks that many would have used to get by on, but for some reason they kept their distance thus never eliciting any casual conversation or discussion from him. Not to mention the fact that Aizen had never been one to bother questioning his class on whatever happened to be the day's topic, he had to put up with their more often than not deluded opinions often enough while grading their papers, he did not also need to hear it spoken from lips that moved with far too little thought put behind what came from them.

Of course it was not the first time he had come across someone who would prefer to keep silent, keep to themselves. It was not even uncommon. He found that a lot of university students often liked to believe that somehow the loneliness that had shrouded them throughout high school would somehow disperse once they left its halls, though this was very rarely the case. Personalities did not change due to nothing more than a change in scenery. As such, at first, Aizen had paid no mind to the new addition to the long list of recluses he had seen in his time. Until he had been handed in work from the raven, that was. The points set out in each of his papers ran almost parallel to the one's he himself made during each lecture - a method he was used to considering the vast majority of his class followed him blindly as most who knew him came to, eventually - yet they also delved off into tangents that protested and contrasted against Aizen's opinions. This was almost enough for him to fail Itachi on the spot, but he didn't. Instead he waited for each new piece of work as if they would somehow give away the reason why the boy seemed so insistent on arguing against him, but they never did.

Each sentence he read was a like a minute glimpse into Itachi's world. It was not a pretty place, the reasoning behind each word was cold and calculated and far more realistic than any other teenager's naïve outlook could ever be. Itachi was young only in appearances and Aizen found himself gearing assignments to fill in the blanks in the image of the other he was beginning to form in his mind. In truth it was probably one he would never be able to live up to.

The hours passed slowly beneath the cherry blossom tree his group had decided to settle beside. It was an event he had attended for many years now and it was one that grew more tiresome with each that passed. Nevertheless, his lack of interest never managed to reach his face and his smiles and laugher came thick and fast throughout the afternoon, his pretences of social niceties no harder to maintain now than they ever were.

However, thankfully, there eventually came the dimming light of sunset – the talk of moving the poor excuse for celebrations onto the nearest bar, raised tones as the sake that one of the others had decided to bring began to take a detrimental effect on the quality of the company. Yet the subject of his occasional glances stayed seated, eyelids closed and hands joined atop covered knees, thouogh this would not stay the case for long.

"I'm dropping you from my class."

His approach had been silent, any sounds he may have made covered by the increasing volume of those behind him. As his voice finally brought the other from his near trance-like state dark gaze took a moment to focus on him, attention apparently far from the closing festivities around him.

Aizen had the small pleasure of seeing deep obsidian eyes widen the slightest amount, a shallow dip forming between delicate eyebrows. Although still he did not speak, the idea apparently being accepted before there was even an explanation to such an outlandish statement.

"Do you not wish to know why?" He was still left looking down at the raven, Itachi making no move to greet him, the only change from Aizen's approach being his now guarded eyes fixed upon Aizen's own.

"I trust you have your reasons, knowing them will not change the fact that I am no longer your student."

The sound it had taken him so long to hear was nothing special, really. The tone was steady, voice neither deep nor high - hard or soft. Yet somehow it was fitting. Another addition to the list of small details he had gathered about the boy.

"Get up." Aizen was not usually so blunt in his demands, in fact he prided himself on the fact that more often than not he did not have to ask for anything at all – merely managing to manipulate people into giving it to him while still under the delusion that this was due to their own conviction.

After a moment's pause, a flicker of hesitation crossing neat features, Itachi complied – again not questioning his words. It seemed that he at least had figured out Aizen enough to know it was wise not to argue with him. Unlike Itachi Aizen did not hesitate, hands closing around the other's slim waist and drawing him closer, the fabric of his yukata gathering under the pressure of the palms pressed against the small of his back. _How traditonal_. Aizen noted in passing, the thought surprisingly affectionate. Leaning to close the distance between them he allowed his lips to press gently against those that so rarely parted. The touch lasted only a few seconds, his tongue lashing out quickly to brush against the sharp sweetness of Itachi's skin, before the other was released once more. Deep onyx hues still met hard chestnut ones, no answers to be found in the darkness.

"Is that okay with you?" It was a question he would have preferred not to ask, one he would not have presented to anyone else but it was quickly becoming clear that he would learn no more about Itachi now the silence between them had been broken than he had managed to before.

Again there was silence, painfully deafening, Itachi's attention now on his own hands and the small collection of sakura petals held within them that were now visible between parted fingers. The pink shone against pale skin and Aizen found renewed appreciation for their delicacy.

"Yes. It's okay with me."


End file.
